Home
by Shannypants
Summary: This is my first fic I'm submitting. Harry is miserable after the night at the Department of mysteries, and Dumbledore and the other teachers decide that perhaps it would be best if he spent the remainder if his summer at Hogwarts. After OOTP. Please R&R:


**SssSssS****Home** **SssSssS**

"What was that bloody noise?" shouted Vernon, yanking open the bedroom door, his face turning a deeper shade of purple by the minute.

"Where did he go, dad?" mumbled Dudley, taking his usual stance behind his mother.

"Don't worry yourself about it, Dudders, just get back to bed. Everything will be sorted out in a moment. Right, Vernon?" asked Petunia nervously. Vernon stared blankly back, grabbing a nearby pad of paper.

"Well, I suppose we had better let them know he's gone."

With that, Dudley trudged back to his room, leaving his parents to their dilemma…

**SssSssS**

Harry walked through the oncoming rain, practically breaking into a run. How good it felt to be free! But then, on that hand, he wasn't free, now was he? No, he thought, his burning anger at Dumbledore swelling once more, he'll never let me be free! As he continued his aimless journey down Magnolia Crescent, he recalled the letter he had received earlier that day:

_Dear Harry, _

_I hope this letter will__ reach you in good condition. First, let me express my deepest apologies __at not being able to keep you posted on all of the news and shortcomings of our world, but I have had many important matters to attend to, mainly dealing with the ministry __and their insistence on increasing the school's security systems. __Despite my explanations, they don't seem to realize that they we__re just there last month, and saw the systems were__ safe then. __Now, however,__ they are__ supposedly__ "primitive" and "ineffic__ient." Anyway, excuse my rambling, but speaking of important matters, our last meeting ended in a fas__hion that was less than desired. For this I accept partial responsibility, and it is time you do the same. There are still quite a few things I would like to discuss with you, and with your kind permission, I wish to pick you up__ from your relatives__ on the evening of June the twelfth__. Please be ready promptly at eight o'clock._

_Very Sincerely, _

_Albus__ Dumbledore_

So, here he was, on June 12th, leaving the very place Dumbledore was to retrieve him from. Stupid old man, he grumbled. What did Dumbledore know? He was no better than anyone else in Harry's life: deceiving, not to be trusted. Just then, Harry saw a blinding flash of light dart around the corner. He stumbled backward, colliding with the concrete, and unexpectedly, he was soon confronted with the grinning face of Stan Shunpike, the conductor of the Knight Bus.

"Well, are you just going to sit down there, or do we plan on going somewhere?" asked Stan.

As he spoke, Harry was pulled out of his thoughts.

"O-oh," he stuttered, "Y-yeah, I suppose I'm coming. Thanks."

With that, he handed Stan his fee and clambered into the vehicle, which was fairly empty. Wanting to stay out of sight, he made his way to an abandoned section of the upper level, and plopped his trunk onto the bed, sending a shrieking Hedwig shaking in her cage.

"Sorry, girl."

Hedwig merely blinked in response. "See, even you can't stand being around me anymore," Harry sighed, and finally realized just how tired he was becoming. After all, he hadn't gotten much sleep after the events of late. He slid his trunk as well as Hedwig's cage in the open overhead luggage compartment and sunk into the coarse old mattress. Surprisingly enough, it was quite comfortable, and an exhausted Harry soon found himself drifting off into the empty blankness that awaited him…

_His vision blurred and his__ scar ached as he swirled through the chilly night air, finally__ igniting as he hit the icy, graveyard floor.__ He felt Cedric at his side, heard an elusive voice from within __the shadows, and in an instant, saw the devastating green flash of the killing curse as his companion thudded to the __ground, eyes blank and unmoving, forever fixed on an unknown point. _

"Harry!"

_Then, __before his mind could fully register what had happened, the scene shifted in a whirlwind of color: the grav__eyard had transformed into the D__epartme__nt of M__ysteries, and the Order had just arrived. Sirius was dueling excitedly with __Bellatrix__, more full o__f life than Harry had ever seen __him__, particularly__ after being shut up in __Grimmauld__ Place for so long.__Nearly as quickly as the duel had begun, Sirius was hit__, ar__ching elegantly through the veil in slow motion__, a silent laugh etched eternally upon his unknowing face.__ Then, finally, as the scene shifted again, a blood-curdling laugh and a__n__ immense burst of green light….a woman's cry as __she fought to protect her child. Then, one last scene__…piercingly blue eyes, so very familiar, eyes that Harry had always felt could see right through him, slowly losing their light…_

"Harry!" whispered a gentle voice. Recognizing it, Harry struggled to open his heavy eyelids and peered up into the deeply concerned face of Albus Dumbledore, breathing sharply.

"Professor Dumbledore!" cried the frightened youth, instinctively grabbing his headmaster by the wrist, afraid he too would disappear if he let go, just like all the others. He blinked his suddenly watery eyes, and felt a sudden pang of guilt as he saw the saddened look on the elder man's wise face, but also fierce relief that the man was alive and with him.

"Harry, child, I do believe you were having a nightmare," he said softly, looking down at the boy, who was shivering quite violently. In an effort to calm him, Dumbledore comfortingly grasped the hand that Harry had used to grab his wrist, and to his relief, some of the shaking ceased. "Would you care to talk about it?"

Harry stared at the bus floor for a long moment, wondering whether or not he should risk gazing up into those eyes, the very eyes of the man he had so despised earlier, but that he could not help but miss. After all, Dumbledore was the one person who had always been there, no matter what, solid as a rock, there to protect him. The tears he had struggled to restrain were suddenly breaking loose as he began to speak.

"I-it was Cedric," he sobbed, "A-a-and Sirius, and my parents, and then…y-you. Just like everyone else, you'd gone, and there was n-nothing I could do. You don't get it, it's my fault, it's my fault that everyone's d-dead!" He continued to sob, and Dumbledore looked up to see Stan Shunpike peeking quietly around the doorframe.

"Is there anything I could do to help either of you, Sir? You two are the only ones left aboard, and I was wondering when you wanted me to stop. It's just going on midnight right now."

"No, thank you, Stan," replied Dumbledore. "But please, if you wouldn't mind, keep everyone out of this area and do keep going until I tell you otherwise."

"Of course, Headmaster, but if you do need anything, you know where to find me."

With that, the professor turned his attention back to his young charge, who still looked as if he had just seen a dementor. "Harry, none of this was your fault, I assure you. In fact, without you, the casualties would be significantly greater. You are only fifteen, yet you have saved more lives and endured more pain, both physical and emotional, than many see in their entire lives, and you are the bravest person I've met. And as for me, as I am unable to predict the future, I cannot tell you for certain, but I don't plan on going anywhere anytime soon. I will always be here at your side, Harry, even perhaps when you don't want me to be."

Then, for the first time since he had met Harry, the boy leaned over and hugged him tightly. At first, the older man stiffened, evidently surprised by the gesture, but he soon found his self joining in the embrace, and felt so much compassion for the boy that he wished he could just wish all his pain away. At this thought, he was unhappily reminded of his meeting with Harry shortly before term ended.

_Then I don't want to be human._ This was what the boy had said, and was one of several statements that Harry had made that had caused Dumbledore to worry himself half to death over the past few weeks. Gently, he eased himself out of the hug and looked the boy straight in the eye.

"Are you all right? Honestly, truthfully, have you been alright? I know full well that this summer can't have been easy so far, especially with Sirius's death so fresh, but I need to know if anything has been _seriously_ wrong. For example, you're as thin as a rail. When was the last time you've eaten?"

With this, Harry again gazed at his feet, cringing slightly at the mention of Sirius. Ever since that night at the Ministry, he had been avoiding these types of conversations, which had come in the form of several letters from the Weasleys and Hermione. Several unanswered letters. Come to think of it, Harry couldn't remember the last time he had eaten, or even slept without having yet another dreadful nightmare. Up until tonight, he had hardly seen the outside of his bedroom since summer began. He hadn't even spoken, and he had the slightest hunch that Dumbledore had been able to guess just as much. Slowly, careful not to give too much away, Harry again raised his head to face the headmaster, hoping to be as truthful to his mentor as possible. "Well, I don't usually eat that much anyway, but I don't actually remember when the last time was," he admitted cautiously. "But I've been fine, really, for the most part."

"Really? According to Mrs. Figg, you haven't left the house in ages, and the weekend you spent in her care while your relatives were away was spent entirely in your room, locked. I surely hope you realize how unhealthy that is, not that I blame you completely," said Dumbledore, remaining stern but gentle. "Not to mention that you have not bothered to respond to any of your friends' letters, including Remus. I'm afraid you have him worried out of his mind, and it took me quite some time to convince him not to come get you himself. It is for these reasons that I came to ask you if you would be interested in staying with me and several of the other teachers for the remainder of your holidays."

Dumbledore pause there, seemingly waiting for some type of response. Harry continued to sit in silence, quite unsure of how he _should_ react.

"Harry, I understand that you are still extremely angry with me after our last encounter, but considering your current state of mind, perhaps we could work something out. Trust me, I have plenty of Order members that have watched you this summer, and their reports were not at all comforting. I have already spoken to Professor McGonagal and the others, yes, even Severus, and we all agreed that you would be best at home this summer."

Once again, Harry found his eyes welling with tears. Not only did the idea thrill him, but there was a word that Dumbledore had said. A word that Dumbledore had used so casually. _Home._ In all his fifteen years, as far back as he could remember, not once had he heard someone say he had a home, an actual place where he belonged. As it was, he had only one memory of ever getting something he had asked for, or a gift of any sort.

**SssSssS**

One day, when he was about five, Harry recalled being taken to the toy store with the Dursleys. As it had been several days before Dudley's birthday, he of course was the one the family was shopping for. Army men, stick ponies, video games: you name it, Dudley wanted it, and neither of his parents dared to object. On a typical day, while the Dursleys bathed their overly spoiled son with more unnecessary luxuries, Harry would walk quietly behind, patiently waiting and asking for nothing. This day, however, as Dudley looked into a new racecar track, Harry could not help but notice a small, stuffed stag sitting in amongst the other stuffed toys. _James._ The boy hadn't the slightest clue why that name immediately came to mind, but it just seemed as though it belonged. Almost instantly, he was filled with such great longing that he could not control his want for it, and he eventually decided he would risk asking his aunt and uncle. After all, it had been _his_ birthday last week, and his relatives hadn't even acknowledged it, not that he had expected them to.

"Excuse me, Aunt Petunia," he called, tugging shyly on the side of her skirt to get her attention. "I just wondered if you could come over there with me for a minute. I found something I really, really like."

Though Petunia did have enough courtesy to look in that general direction, she just scoffed disapprovingly when she saw what particular animal the boy had selected. _Disgusting,_ she thought to herself, _absolutely disgusting._ "No, I'm afraid we aren't buying for you today." With that, she hastily turned away and moved to follow her husband and son, leaving her young nephew sniffling along behind.

That night, long after the Dursleys had fallen asleep, Harry crept out of his tiny cupboard, flashlight in hand, for he could have sworn he had heard a small _pop_ down just outside the door. At first, it had frightened him immensely, until he heard his uncle snoring upstairs, eliminating the possibility that it could have been him. As Harry opened the door, his jaw dropped. Right there, sitting on the floor in front of him was the stuffed stag. He looked around in every direction before carefully picking it up, not wanting to fall for any more of the Dursleys cruel tricks, and noticed that there was a small note tied with red ribbon around the animal's foot.

_4 Privet Drive, Little __Whinging__, Surrey_

_Cupboard __Under__ the Stairs_

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_I am writing to you to wish you a happy belated birthday. __Though this is not a spectacular gift by far, I do hope you enjoy it._

_P.S. I think "James" would be perhaps a good name for it, don't you agree?_

Harry nearly dropped the mysteries letter in his excitement, and it was all he could do to keep from yelling out. James! How had this person known what he had planned to name the toy all along? Who would


End file.
